Author's Note

Even though the flying sub is completely improbable and highly flawed, it crashes constantly after all, nevertheless FS1 is Captain Crane's baby. This story Choices is completely improbable and highly flawed, nevertheless it is my baby.

About a year ago I started this work. Choices was the first fiction I had written since school day compositions. For reasons of my own I was compelled to have my first live action heroes, the trusty crew of the Seaview, actually deal with the usually unseen consequences of one of their adventures. I was quite focussed on being true to the characters and inset glimpses of actual episodes to justify to myself why I had certain characters behave as they did.

Choices was compulsively written over many months and after several months I rather hesitantly admitted to a friend that I had been writing a new episode for an old TV show. My friend nodded knowingly with the response, "Ah, fan fiction."

I nodded sagely as if I knew what my friend was talking about and then at the first opportunity frantically googled fan fiction. That was when I discovered people actually did write new adventures. I finished this story and tucked it away thinking it too dark and brooding to publish. I then wrote Breathe with every intention of sharing it. The Mist of Silence is in my humble opinion one of the most soul haunting Voyage episodes with its troubling incomplete ending demanding resolution. It has very obviously influenced both my stories.

Despite subsequent polishing I still fully acknowledge Choices as having many flaws especially inadequacies in plot, pacing and the science of sub manoeuvring. Nevertheless it may give Voyage fans something new to read. If it isn't your cup of tea blame it on the imperfect story arc and lack of fiction writing experience. If you enjoy it we'll chalk it up to beginner's luck.

Cheers

Currents and Eddies

P.S. Choices takes place sometime between Season Two and Season Three.

Vicious Memories

The man screamed in mortal terror, 'Captain Crane!' He was forcefully dragged away kicking and screeching, his feet scrabbling on the cobbles. He needed the protection of his commanding officer if he was to live. The firing squad waited for him. As he was backed against the bullet-pocked wall, the priest started reciting monotonously in stark contrast to the desperate panicked screams of the horrified man. The realization of abrupt finality hit him. He shrieked in abject dread, 'Captain Crane!'*

Crane sat bolt upright with a strangled cry, "Farrell!" The darkness of the night surrounded him. He sighed. He brushed the familiar cold sweat from his forehead. Swung his legs over the side to sit on the edge of his bunk, head drooping down into his hands in contrition. The remorse and self-reproach never ended. It was only right he paid for that death night after night. No blame was assigned to him at the inquiry, but in his heart the guilt was his. He couldn't sleep in peace because Farrell, who had no choice, slept forever. He chose … he was alive and Farrell was not.

Kowalski and Patterson exchanged gloomy glances over their plates of eggs and bacon. Healthy, active, hard working both of them, and they weren't hungry. Breakfast was a pleasure their friend, could never enjoy again. Dead men didn't eat. The three of them were on that mission with the Captain. Two years ago today. It could have been any one of them, but it was Farrell.

Patterson's stomach churned suddenly and he pushed his plate away. He would have been next … was next, abandoned to death by the Captain's silence. Only a few seconds more and the priest beside him would have been reciting for him. The Captain would have brushed away tears for him too, just like for Farrell when the shots rang out. But the Captain's tears of regret could never make up for being dead.

Riley, the enthusiastic youthful surfer, looked at Patterson's plate, "Don't you want your breakfast?"

Patterson grimaced as if nauseous, "No, I don't feel like eating."

"Well if you don't want it … " Riley pulled the plate over and quickly started to eat before Patterson could change his mind.

Patterson slightly disgusted, glanced at Kowalski and uncharacteristically was about to say something curt to Riley. Kowalski brusquely said, "Leave him alone. Riley wasn't aboard Seaview then, he doesn't know."

Riley, still cheerful, quizzically looked at his crew mates, "Know what?"

Kowalski simply said, "We had a crew mate. He died two years ago today. It wasn't pretty."

Young Riley, suddenly still, glanced at the two sombre men, seasoned seamen both, neither interested in eating. With that quick lesson on reading the crowd, Riley, no longer relishing the eggs, slowly pushed the plate away.

Patterson reported for duty in the control room, he greeted his crewmates and sat down at his station. He pulled sonar duty today. He hoped he could pull this off, could focus on the readings and not on the intruding memories; of Farrell who trusted the Skipper to speak, to save his life, of the Skipper who remained silent, who let him die.

Crane slowed to a stop on the walk down the passageway toward the spiral stairs, his mind full of the sound of his crewman screaming out to him and the sound of the shots that stopped his cries. His jaw clenched at the intruding memory. Sometimes Farrell stopped him cold in the midst of conversations, course calculations, or a round of golf. Trying to shake it off he went down the spiral stairs, greeted Morton, nodded to the crew. After some slight hesitation he rather uncertainly went over to Patterson laid his hand on his shoulder. "It may be a tough day for you today, if you prefer to be relieved of the watch at any point today just say."

The usually compassionate Patterson found himself feeling judgmental. He was surprised at himself since he thought the world of the Skipper usually, but how could the Skipper just shake Farrell's death off like that? Did he really think being relieved of the watch was a solution for this kind of tough day? But he simply replied, "I'm okay, Skipper, thank you.

* The Mist of Silence